


The Devil Made Me Do It

by auburn



Series: Bad Wigs [2]
Category: Alias (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Out of Date, Season/Series 02, Spies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:58:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9551984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auburn/pseuds/auburn
Summary: Bad Wigs fluff. The office party.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Posting old fic to AO3 in case LiveJournal dies. 12.28.2003
> 
> Don't expect plot from this.

Sydney accepted a cup of punch from Dilliger, one of the SD-6 analysts. She hoped it had something strong in it. She needed something to fortify her before she faced Sloane. If she could have weaseled out of the SD-6 New Year's office party, she would have, even if it meant crawling through a Calcutta sewer in a halter top and cut-offs.

No such luck this year and she still had to attend the CIA's version later this evening. Whoo boy, that was going to be a real ripsnorter. Not.

Sark snatched the glass of punch out of Sydney's hand.

"You don't want to drink that."

She glared at him narrowed eyed. "Why not?" He was dressed in one of his oh-so-elegant, bespoke suits again. Blue and icy as his eyes, which looked - Sydney peered at him closer - slightly dilated. She might even say panicky, if this was anyone other than the Arctic Prince. He was wearing a shiny, multi-colored, pointy foil party hat perched sidewise on his blond curls. Just the sight of it made her want to smile.

She was not smiling at Sark anymore. The last time she was nice to him they had ended up in bed together. Which was the last time he had been nice to her, because she'd left him stuck in a hotel room with no pants the next morning and he'd been pouting ever since.

From Sloane's office came a moan.

Sark blinked at her innocently. "Someone spiked it."

Sydney crossed her arms and kept glaring. "Someone, Sark?"

He smiled a little boy smile at her. "Okay, I did."

Another, louder moan was heard, followed by the thump of a body hitting the wall. The glass partitions shuddered. Sark put his hand on Sydney's elbow and guided her toward the conference room. Behind them a voice called out hoarsely, "Oh, God. Oh, Arvin! I want you! I want you right now!"

Sydney froze.

"Was that Ariana Kane?" Sydney asked blankly.

Sark nodded nervously.

Ariana's voice rose. Other people around the office were hearing her too, turning and staring toward the office with wide eyes and hanging jaws. "Arvin! Let me get that jacket off you! And your pants!"

Sloane's voice had gone quite, quite high. "Ms. Kane! Get your hands out of - If you don't let gooooo - Oh! I'm going to call for security! Please, not - "

"God, Arvin, you stud, you magnificent love monster!" Ariana cried out.

Sloane sounded positively strangled - and possibly half smothered. "I'm a married man!"

"I thought your wife was dead!"

"Oh, right, sure. I killed her myself. I think. Did Jack tell you about the exhumation?"

Ariana shrieked, "I don't care! I must have you!"

Sydney blinked at Sark. "She had some punch?"

Sark was shuddering. "Exhumation? Ewwww. That's necrophilia."

Syd grabbed his chin and made him face her again.

"The punch, Sark. How much?"

Sark looked slightly shame-faced. "Two or three cups, I'm afraid."

"What did you put in it?"

"A bottle of Formula 47."

Sydney looked back at Sloane's office as his voice rose in a wordless shriek and someone clawed desperately at the doors, trying to get out.

Jack arrived and loomed over them both. "What's going on here?"

Sydney smiled blindingly and snatched the cup of punch back out of Sark's hand, giving it to her father. "Nothing, Dad. Here, have some punch. It's fantastic!"

Jack looked at it doubtfully, but took a sip.

Sark gaped at her. Sydney caught his hand and began dragging him toward the door. "We're going to get out of here now! See you later. Have fun!"

"Sydney!"

"I've got to go that - that other thing. Remember? I'll see you there later," she called over her shoulder.

Sark tripped along after her, as they dodged around various couples and a few threesomes developing around the office. He did skid to a stop and stare for a moment at the sight of Marshall Flinkman, practically buried under three curvaceous and amorous secretaries.

"Happy New Year's, Mr. Flinkman," Sark said with a smirk.

Marshall grinned back at him happily and offered another cup of punch to each of his harem.

"Sydney, where are we going?" Sark asked as she dragged him into the elevator.

Syd pulled out her handy-dandy lipstick bug-zapper and turned it on. "Have you got any more of that stuff?" she asked.

"A bottle or two," Sark admitted cautiously.

"Good, I know another party that really needs livening up."

He narrowed his eyes back at her then smirked again. "The CIA office party. Oh, this I have to see. "

>


End file.
